Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. John.
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